


A Shock To The System

by MTrevelyan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dorian is like a brilliant sidekick/wingman, Fluff, M/M, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTrevelyan/pseuds/MTrevelyan
Summary: The missive in front of Maxwell wasn’t a shock to him at all. The things they were saying about him was true, he was as resourceful, cunning, and promiscuous as they said. That was quickly changing though. When he was still just Maxwell Trevelyan, and not The Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, he had the luxury of being with whoever he wanted, but now he had the eyes of every nation in Thedas on him and that was just impossible now.





	1. Missive

_Maxwell Trevelyan was one of the… more talented mages at the Ostwick Circle before it fell. The tower’s most powerful destructive mage, well versed in all elemental magic; and capable enough at healing to hide his mistakes. He was also talented because he knew exactly how to avoid getting into trouble with the templars. Maxwell’s noble background showed him how diplomacy, blackmail, and favours could get you anywhere, he’d also learned that most young men sent off to the chantry by noble families had… certain tendencies. In this circle, two of the more influential Templars had shown these tendencies and Maxwell knew exactly how to exploit them. Be it a soft touch on the cheek, or perhaps a lusty stare from across the room. He knew how to get what he wanted out of them. It’s a shame that they are now both dead, as they could tell you much more than I, however it must have been a deed that Maxwell must have had no pride in taking, but when the Circle erupted in flames I imagine he had no choice. He himself was just fine in the circle, he was loved by most of his peers, literally loved by a couple of the more naïve boys, and he lived an almost cushy lifestyle, like the one his family would have given him. He would be an immense asset to any mage rebellion, and/or any organisation in Thedas._

— — — — —

The missive in front of Maxwell wasn’t a shock to him at all. The things they were saying about him was true, he was as resourceful, cunning, and promiscuous as they said. That was quickly changing though. When he was still just Maxwell Trevelyan, and not The Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, he had the luxury of being with whoever he wanted, but now he had the eyes of every nation in Thedas on him and that was just impossible now. It was actually his past self that was now causing him problems. Standing in the War Room, with his advisers all around, debating how to address these ‘accusations’. Maxwell knew that they weren’t accusations, he’d said as much too; they were truths. He couldn’t stop thinking how he’d wished Josephine would shut up about the possibility of ‘homosexual rumour’, because it wasn’t rumour. She also wanted him to marry some noble girl, like he was going to allow **_that_** to happen. He was fed up with Leliana suggesting they silence people who knew too much with force, because what good would that do? He’d grow tired of Cullen awkwardly avoiding his gaze, because now he understood why Maxwell was always close to him, and checking up on him to make sure he was okay. As the advisers squabbled amongst themselves, Maxwell was growing overly tired with the situation, it reached a head when they became so loud that he winced, causing him to slam the missive on the table and walk out of the room, as he left he muttered back at them. “You picked me to be Inquisitor, don’t try and change me now that I am.”

He didn’t really know where he was walking to, but when he found himself slumped over the ramparts on a particularly quiet section of the wall, he reflected on how difficult his life had become. Before and during the Conclave, his job was simply to observe the Divine, and watch out for the city of Ostwick. Now, he was the leader of the largest non-state organisation in Thedas, outnumbering the Grey Wardens, and comprising largely of former rebel mages and faithful soldiers. In the valley below Skyhold, he could see the extent of his army; it was so large that he’d never seen something quite like it since seeing the swarms of refugees from the Blight in Ferelden. He was so lost in thought over his job, his new role, how he was so overwhelmed, that he didn’t realise that Cullen had followed him. A short cough alerted him to the Commander’s presence, forcing him to turn around. He was met by light eyes staring directly at him, while their owner tried to find words that didn’t sound wrong. But Maxwell knew that words were not Cullen’s forte, especially when feelings were involved.

He found his words, but he dropped his stare. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Maxwell returned to face over the ramparts and into the valley. “Don’t be. It’s my fault.”

“No… It’s not your fault. Nobody should try and tell you who you are, or were. There are worse secrets I have that could just as easily be spread.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

That was to be the end of their conversation for now. Cullen simply joined Maxwell in watching the business of the military camp below. The sun was falling by that point, and as time went on, they could both see the individual lamps and torches light up when darkness took over the valley. It was breathtaking, especially for Maxwell. He was still coming to terms with the idea that he had an army as large as this at his command, that he’d led investigations against rogue Grey Wardens working for Magisters, that were in turn working for an ancient darkspawn, and was now planning a siege on one of their most well known fortresses in Orlais. He was now also preparing for the worst, with a possibly unstoppable assassination of the Empress at her own peace talks. The list went on, and the darkness began to creep up to Skyhold’s towers as the sun began to droop behind a mountain, once the evening sky’s hues of pink and blue were replaced by a deep black, Maxwell reached out to Cullen, placing a hand on his wrist.

“Did you even know? That I was attracted to you and trying to flirt with you at Haven?”

“I knew. I just wasn’t too sure how to react to it.” He seemed to take in breath endlessly. “I’m really not very good at this. I care for you, I just need more time to figure out what that means. The last time I had a talk like this… was a long time ago.”

The Inquisitor’s hand dropped from Cullen’s wrist as he turned away. “Very well.” Cullen went to say something, but Maxwell interjected “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow before we talk about plans for the Winter Palace.” He walked away far too quickly for it to be natural and it was obvious that Cullen noticed, because when Maxwell reached the doors to the great hall, he looked back up at where he came from. Cullen was still there, frozen in place. Heading through the hall, he ignored Leliana trying to approach him, and avoided eye contact with Josephine as she came out from the door to his left. They could apologise in the morning, but for now Maxwell wanted nothing more than to try his best to sleep.

—————

Maxwell jumped awake from a nightmare early the next morning, the sun wasn’t even up yet and the sky was still a dark blue colour. The details of the dream were still blurry, but it had something to do with being stuck in the fade, that much he knew for certain. He snuck into the War Room to read more messages, and to check up on Hawke. He didn’t know how he felt about Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall came across as too aggressive, with little tact. He seemed like a nice enough guy to Maxwell, and was good with conversation; he was easy on the eyes too, but since the broody elf with the markings showed up he realised that he was already accounted for. No getting away from thinking about Cullen with that guy, not whilst Fenris was around anyway. Max was laying the table opening each letter one by one with the tiny concealed dagger he always kept on him. There were urgent messages from his father, stating that despite his mage status, he was to inherit the Trevelyan estate and his Father’s title. This meant that his brothers, one was a templar and the other was an infant, had died. He figured he’d be more upset if he knew them, but it was just another thing to worry about for now. Some from friends and colleagues from the Ostwick circle wrote to him from inside his own camp, which gave him some hope that not everything from his old life had been destroyed; it was weird that they were now ‘beneath’ him in the grand scheme of things though. The rest of the messages were dull, people offering free clothes, a new staff, things that he’d have to pick up when he was next in Val Royeaux. The door to the war room creaked open, gathering his attention. He saw Josephine standing in the door clutching her sleeves.

“Inquisitor… Allow me to apologise for my words yesterday. I… was not thinking straight.”

Maxwell hummed as he sat up, he wasn’t angry with Josephine, but he was disappointed considering that she and Leliana had ‘reconciled’ in Josie’s bedchamber shortly after everyone became settled at Skyhold. “There’s no hard feelings Josie. But please, refrain from suggesting I marry any woman ever again, I’m not sure I’m qualified to deal with wives and children.” He sat up and send a warm smile in her direction, making sure she knew that it was a joke.

“Ah, of course Inquisitor.” She chuckled then, and instantly she relaxed. Never before had Maxwell seen Josie so on-edge. Then again, he was arguably the most powerful mage in Southern Thedas, and could probably also give the Archon a run for his money… even without the blood magic.

Leliana slipped in the room behind the Ambassador “I’ll burn the rest of the proposals, unless you want me to keep the ones from men?” She had a sly smile that made Maxwell wince. “Oh yes, I forgot that you were pining for our Commander.”

“Can you blame me? He’s the most attractive man about here, besides me that is.”

Leliana was now next to him, reading a scouting report, whilst also tapping at the table. “Ah yes, who could resist the piercing green eyes of Lord Trevelyan? Not to mention his stature. I’ve paid you many compliments to wean favours out of the more promiscuous nobles.”

“By the looks of it, the Commander could.” Maxwell slumped and huffed into his hands. “It’s really silly, but I just care so much about him. It’s impossible not to. You both know about the stuff with the lyrium, and then there’s his dreams. I worry about him.” Maxwell rolled off the table and made his way to the door. He stopped, just to look back and smile at his two friends. Even if they were a pain in the arse, he’d never be able to do it without them. Leliana was just like him, except Maxwell wouldn’t be as good at her job. Josephine was the not-so-innocent, yet totally innocent one who he couldn’t help but adore. He left them there, they had begun discussing some noble in the middle the Ferelden nowhere, and he didn’t have the patience for it. He reached the gardens, where he perched himself on the well, looking down into the dark. He summoned small fireballs to light the bottom of the well, making them dance before extinguishing them and making small ice trails. He began to feel the sun sting his back, so he headed up to his quarters to put on his robes, ready to deal with his duties for the day.

When he returned to the Great Hall, he found that the Mayor of Crestwood had been arrested and brought to Skyhold for judgement, which he made the first thing on his to-do list. He sat in the throne until everyone had gathered. Cullen nodded at him as the prisoner was brought into the hall. Maxwell sat there fiddling with his hands, making chance glances at his Commander, getting caught more than once. When the testimony was finished, he sighed. “The way these people died… was horrific. But I believe you about the Blight.” He looked up at Cullen, who was now frowning, and that irritated him. “I hereby seize your property, which will be sold, and the earnings distributed amongst the villagers in Crestwood. I also exile you from Ferelden, they shan’t complain, and if you ever return they will do what they please with you.” Maxwell stood too quickly then, needing to shake off his dizziness, and practically fled into his quarters. He’d bump up his letter replies, and catch up with his Commander later.

—————

He delivered the letters to Leliana personally. One to his father that was quite extensive, the others to various Banns in Ferelden thanking them for their aid with shutting down red lyrium routes. Leliana tried to ask how he was but he waved off the question, assuming she saw his rush to leave the judgement earlier. He was going to make the man join the Grey Wardens, but Cullen’s frown made him think twice. Of course, Leliana pressed the question, so he left Leliana with a curt ‘I’m fine’ and made his way to the gardens. When he got there, he found Cullen and Dorian playing Chess. He leant against the wall as he watched Dorian relax into his seat, while Cullen was on the edge of his. They were a strange pair of friends, Dorian and Cullen, however their games were fascinating. Maxwell walked over in the middle of their second game, which caused Cullen to stand up.

“Going somewhere? Does that mean I win?” Dorian teased. It had its intended effect, because the Commander sat down again, and within two moves he had Dorian beaten. The Tevinter stood and took his leave after that, but whispered to Maxwell as he left. “He’s worried about you. I’d fix that if I were you.”

Maxwell looked over to Cullen who had just about finished reseting the pieces, and then he sat opposite him. “Let’s play.”

Cullen nodded and moved his piece first. The game continued in relative silence, other than the odd comment on a good tactical move, or a total mistake by either of the players. Maxwell noticed that he was seeing the Commander smile for the first time since the Mayor’s judgement.

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters.” Cullen noted.

“It probably is. I’m glad though, it’s nice to get away from it all. Plus, I like spending time with you.” Maxwell glanced up quickly, and caught Cullen’s blush. “I’m sorry. I know you get uncomfortable when I’m too forward.” The apology didn’t stop Maxwell from grinning, though.

“I… enjoy spending time with you too.” Cullen moved another piece. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I want to spend… more time, with you that is.”

“You really mean that? Spending more time with you would be great.” The Inquisitor made the penultimate move, as Cullen realised his loss. He shook his head and moved a more pointless piece, admitting defeat to Maxwell.

“I’m glad you said that. After everything I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted nothing to do with me. You’ve seen my baggage, even if we end up just as friends, it’s a lot to handle.” Maxwell moved his final piece to finish the game. “Well played, Inquisitor.”

Maxwell hummed, and rested his hands between his thighs. He didn’t want to address Cullen’s insecurities without knowing he was ready to talk about it. “We should do this again, although things will get busy now that the ball at the Winter Palace is approaching.”

“We’re also having to accelerate Adamant’s siege because of the large number of Wardens approaching every day. Try not to remind me about the ball, the outfits for the ball are… extraordinarily tight.” The pair sat there gossiping for a few hours, totally ignorant of the world going on around them. Dorian came down to see how they were getting on, but decided not to interrupt them. They only looked up when a messenger came to the Commander with ‘an urgent matter’ that drew him away. Cullen’s look of apology made Maxwell’s stomach flutter. He’d see Cullen tomorrow as normal Inquisition life went on and, with the thought of the ball, something told him that he’d enjoy the sight of Cullen in tight fitting formal dress.

—————

Cullen reached his desk and rested against it. The lyrium withdrawal was really beginning to take its toll out on him. He was going to have to get Cassandra to find someone to relieve him, but that was tomorrow’s job. He’d just received word from his soldiers near Adamant, that the summoning of demons had already begun. He punched his desk, knowing this could throw off every plan. They had to attack Adamant immediately. There was no other way. As he ran through across the bridge Leliana appeared at the door, clearly she had received word too. Nodding to each other, they swiftly made their way through Skyhold’s hall, and up the main tower. The Inquisitor had to be woken, they had to go to Adamant now. A messenger had followed the Spymaster, which was lucky because the Commander barked orders at him to ready the army to leave immediately. As they approached the top floor, Leliana stopped, and gestured for Cullen to go ahead. She waited a flight of stairs below. Cullen knocked twice quickly and opened the door.

“Inquisitor, it’s urgent. We need to leave for- **_maker_** …” As Cullen looked up to meet the Inquisitor, he found him shirtless, practicing fighting with a large great-sword made from Nevarrite, with jewels crested in the hilt. His chest was smooth, and shiny with sweat. It threw the Commander off course for several seconds before he picked his jaw off the floor. “Forgive me. It’s Adamant - the wardens. We need to go immediately. They’ve begun summoning demons.”

Maxwell nodded, and threw on one of his silk shirts without doing up the buttons. He strode towards Cullen, who was glued in position. “You’re ready for this then?” to which Cullen nodded. The Inquisitor patted him on the shoulder, and looked deep into his eyes. The green soothing Cullen enough to allow him to move a hand to Maxwell’s face.

“We really do need to go. I’ll ride with you.” The pair smiled quickly, before Maxwell grabbed his staff and headed towards the stables. Skyhold had ruptured into a flurry of activity, men and women; humans, elves and dwarves were running around making sure they were ready. Maxwell approached his inner circle, checking that each and every one was okay.

“Let’s go kick some demon ass.” Was the last thing Cullen heard before he ran out of the Hall, to gather the horses for the siege. It was going to be a long ride. He hoped it would all go to plan.


	2. Addictions

Cullen pressed his hand to his face. Adamant had been a complete nightmare. Never did he think that the Grey Wardens would have been so foolish. A massive rift in the fade stood before him, whilst the last of the mage wardens were prevented from casting and rounded up. He had seen the top of the Fortress collapse into the ravine below, he’d watched everyone fall, including Maxwell. The green flash was the only thing that gave him any home that they’d survived. The demon was still visible in the rift but it was distracted now, perhaps the work of another demon or something else in the fade. The clash of swords were still audible from inside the fortress, but the worst of the fighting was now over. Inquisition mages flanked Cullen, surrounding him in barriers in case any remaining warden was brave enough to try his luck. It seemed that Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian and the Inquisitor were the only members of the ‘Inner Circle’ that were unaccounted for, along with Hawke and Warden Stroud. The fanatical magister that was responsible for this abomination had been captured, and was already being prepared for transport back to Skyhold with a large contingent of Templars. Cullen swore that if the Inquisitor had fallen, he’d ensure the most hellish punishment befell Erimond. Cullen wasn’t a vicious man anymore, but tranquility came to mind easily. It was at this point, where he accepted that he had feelings for Maxwell, and all he longed for was to know that he was all right.

“THE INQUISITOR!” Shouts from all over the courtyard were heard as Maxwell’s figure became visible in the rift, when he jumped through with everyone who was missing except Warden Stroud, Cullen realised the gravity of this situation. Maxwell’s brows were furrowed in fury. His eyes, usually filled with playful colour, were now dark with hate. He hesitated to close the rift behind Hawke, who was the last person to emerge, but eventually he did, turning to his Commander afterwards, still as furious as before. “Round up the Wardens.”

They told Maxwell that the Warden Mages were freed from Nightmare’s grasp after he closed the rift, along with the rest of the demons. The Mages began to stop resisting, and most of them slumped in defeat and disbelief about what they had done. A Warden approached, stating that the Wardens were ready to make up for ‘Clarel’s tragic mistake’, and proceeded to ask where Stroud was.

“You’re all fools. You stood just fucking stood there, allowing demons to be brought into the world through blood magic. You’re morons. If you’re the Order that’s supposed to protect us from blights, we’ve got no shitting hope of surviving the next one.” Maxwell’s fury began to escape through his magic, so he took a moment to control himself. “Warden Stroud is dead. Because of all of you. You will help us now. Your mages will be banished to Weisshaupt, only to be able to return once Corypheus is dealt with. Your warriors must remain, and fight this ancient darkspawn to atone for the crimes the rest of you committed. That is all.” As Maxwell walked towards the gates, Dorian and Cullen followed; Hawke and Varric behind them too. The gates had collapsed over the exit, blocking the path but Maxwell unleashed his fury by blasting the gates with fire, smashing them to pieces. He’d had enough of this place today. He climbed on his horse, followed by his Inner Circle, clicking his horse onwards, to Skyhold. 

—————

The Inquisitor was sat at his desk with his head in his hands, it was three days after the battle at Adamant. His upper arms were resting on the various missives and letters to support his head, scrunching them up in the process. The scars of his ordeal were beginning to fade, and his anger was due to subside too. Cullen was stood on the other side of the room, uncharacteristically in rather casual clothes. Maxwell had not yet noticed that he was there, but he had been there for some time. Earlier in the day, much to the Commander’s surprise, Livius Erimond had indeed been sentenced to Tranquility. Cullen could take no pride in it though, given that as Maxwell handed down the sentence, he had shouted in rage, and as soon as he was out of the hall, out of public eyes, he broke down into Cullen’s arms. His sobbing lasted hours, it was clear that his role was taking its toll out on him. The Commander held his Inquisitor close until he fell asleep, but now the day was falling into the evening, and Cullen wanted to be up front to Maxwell. He coughed to grab his attention.

“Oh, Cullen…” When Maxwell looked up, the exhaustion and depression on his face was plain to see. It tugged at Cullen’s heart.

“Inquisitor, I thought I… Maxwell you look like shit. Have you slept at all?” The Inquisitor shook his head, and Cullen walked up to the desk. “Forgive me, I just needed to talk to you. About… my feelings for you.”

“Cullen, if you’re going to tell me how great a friend I am but you don’t want to be with me, now really isn’t the time to say that.” Maxwell’s head fell back into his hands.

“No… that’s not what I was about to say. I care for you, as… I think of you as more than just a friend.” Cullen shifted his feet, as Maxwell collapsed onto his desk. “I realised at Adamant. I was worried about you. All I wanted to do was to come and find you. You were left in danger again, after I promised you that it would never happen again, it happened again and I was angry.” Cullen walked around behind the desk, and placed his hand on Maxwell’s. “If you still want us to… whatever you want us to do… I just need time to get used to it. But I really want this.” Maxwell’s fingers interlaced with Cullen’s, and the Inquisitor stood, pulling himself onto the Commander, and into tight embrace. He didn’t say anything, he was clearly too tired or too overwhelmed for even the simplest tasks. Cullen picked him up, Maxwell still holding tightly to Cullen’s shirt, and carried him to the bed where he let Maxwell lay on his chest. The pair watched the sun setting through the open balcony doors, the colours of the stained glass windows dancing around the room as they did. Maxwell fell asleep again before the sun had disappeared, but Cullen stayed. He wanted Maxwell to feel safe, and he could think of no better way to make sure that he did.

—————

Maxwell smiled for the first time since Adamant when he woke up, the sun barely rising. He could feel Cullen’s sleepy breath on his hair. The Commander was also muttering in his sleep, but that was normal for him, especially since he’d stopped taking his lyrium, which meant that his thought processes could become muddled and needy. There was no way of controlling that when he was asleep. Maxwell felt much more positive about the whole ordeal, now that he knew that he had someone to distract him from it. Cullen began to stir, and his mutterings became more frantic, so Maxwell lightly shook him to bring him to consciousness, Cullen’s eyes cracking open while he sighed; clearly his dreams were really that bad. 

“Cullen, you know you can talk to me… about the dreams? If it’ll help that is.” Maxwell shifted over so less of his weight was on Cullen’s chest, which made the Commander grip his waist tighter.

“Maybe another time… It’s not something I’m used to talking about.” At that, Maxwell hummed into Cullen’s chest. He could have stayed there all morning if there weren’t preparations to be made for the mission into the Grand Masquerade. They remained there in silence for a while, before Maxwell stood to change out of yesterday’s clothes into new ones. Cullen watched him shuffle the clothes off, while Maxwell nonchalantly muttered about needing a bath. Maxwell usually wore a dark blue formal robe, but had been wearing a bland grey shirt and trousers for days after Adamant. Today, he picked a silver flowing coat, made of light materials with light green buttons. Underneath the coat he wore a black shirt and black trousers. Cullen smiled at the domesticity of watching the other man get dressed. Once Maxwell caught him staring, he couldn’t help but smile. He grabbed one of Cullen’s hands and tugged him towards the door. “Let’s get some food.”

The hall had a table near to the kitchens for the Inquisitor’s friends to eat at. Cullen tended to eat at his office so it was his first time eating there. When they got out of the tower’s door, he saw that Dorian, Leliana, Blackwall and Vivienne were already sat there, enjoying their breakfast. Maxwell giggled at Vivienne’s comments at the food, something along the lines of ‘Rather charming for a Ferelden breakfast’. As Cullen took his seat next to the Inquisitor, Dorian raised his eyebrow, and grinned wickedly at the pair.

“Busy night?” The Tevinter proceeded to laugh at Cullen’s instant deep blush. “Oh Cullen, don’t be so embarrassed. We’ve all seen how you two look at each other.”

The Inquisitor was, publicly at least, better at this game than Dorian, and he knew it. “Dorian, you know full well that if it had indeed been a busy night, that I wouldn’t be walking as well as I am right now. Leave Cullen alone, he wanted to make sure I was all right after Adamant.” Cullen choked on the water he tried to sip, and both Maxwell and Dorian burst out laughing. Leliana let out a chuckle too when Vivienne scowled and scoffed. Blackwall just looked confused. It was a weirdly different morning, but still, It was a good morning to be the Inquisitor.

—————

For Cullen, the day got progressively worse form there. He found himself unable to concentrate, unable to think clearly. He decided that it was down to distraction and went to spar with some of the other templars for a while. When his legs fell from under him, and pain filled his limbs, he knew that something was intensely wrong. He eventually managed to stand up, and excuse himself to his chambers. He collapsed before he got there, with Josephine finding him slumped against a wall. The Commander couldn’t help but chuckle at her exasperations of how pale he looked, before she helped him stand and go into his room. She swore not to mention his state to anyone, including the Inquisitor but Cullen knew this could be serious. He took the rest of his reports to the much smaller desk in his main chambers, deciding that once he was finished, he’d seek out Cassandra and get her to relieve him.

When he managed to find her in the blacksmith’s, he was angered and dismayed by Cassandra’s inability to see the gravity of the situation. His heath was intermittent, his concentration was weak, and he couldn’t fight properly anymore. The symptoms could get worse before they get better and he didn’t want to take the chance. Cassandra’s assurance that he was still capable just irritated him and make him raise his voice. That was when Maxwell walked in, and his resolve to stay calm shattered.

—————

The morning was the only good part of the day. After breakfast, Cassandra accompanied Maxwell to survey the forces after the battle at Adamant, and to visit every quartermaster, blacksmith, fletcher, and enchanter that made the victory at Adamant such a colossal one. Casualties from the battle were low, with the Inquisition retaining more than eighty percent of their total forces. The Wardens had barely retained sixty percent of theirs. It was a battle that would set the tone of the Inquisition for years to come, provided they faced no more severe defeats in the time after. In the latter part of the afternoon, Maxwell was buried in missives and reports later in the evening. A number of agents had begun to report back on the Winter Palace, and also he had several reports on the personal missions from each of his three main advisers. There were so many of these reports that sorting and reading through the mountain of paper seemed like a greater task than climbing the Frostbacks after the destruction of Haven. Several of the reports were from his advisers, which was the only thing that made the task easier due to Leliana’s constant fun poking at the victims of her covert activites. One thing that made Maxwell worry however, was how Cullen’s reports were becoming more concise, and less energetic. It was easy to worry about the Commander since he had stopped taking lyrium so abruptly. After going through more than half of the pile, the Inquisitor came across another one of Cullen’s reports. It was obvious that this one had been screwed up at one point, so much so that the corners of the paper had begun to tear. Maxwell couldn’t wait any longer to ask Cullen what was going on.

The walk to Cullen’s office was… odd. Hardly anybody would catch Maxwell’s eye, and those who did seemed to send a friendly warning. Something was definitely wrong. When he reached Cullen’s office, a scout informed him that the Commander was talking to Cassandra, as a matter of urgency. The Inquisitor was fade stepping towards the blacksmiths before the scout had finished speaking. When he reached the door he found as much composure as he could manage, feigning calmness as he walked up to the bickering pair. Cullen went to walk away after throwing his arms up in dismay, and when Maxwell caught his arm to stop him, the Commander violently shook himself free. Too shocked to respond, Maxwell let him leave but turned straight to Cassandra, who explained the situation. “Shit.”

The Inquisitor sighed continuously as he jogged through the courtyard trying to catch up with Cullen. He looked up at the ramparts just as Cullen slammed the door to his office. As he reached Cullen’s door, he breathed heavily to prepare himself for the heavy shit that was about to hit him, but nothing could prepare him for the box that flew directly at him from behind Cullen’s desk. This was going to be much harder than Maxwell had anticipated.


	3. Letters

Maxwell tried to be angry. He tried to put on a face meant to scold Cullen into reconsidering. It was all in vain, and his attempts were instantly shattered by Cullen’s grunt of pain that snapped his features look much closer to worry than they did to anger. The Inquisitor rushed to his Commander’s side, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. A few seconds passed before Cullen insisted that he was fine, and levelled himself out; he poured his heart out then. He told Maxwell of the horrors of Kinloch Hold, the abominations and the slaughter that his friends experienced, the torture. Cullen paced to the wall behind his desk, putting more distance between them. He went on, recalling the fall of Kirkwall’s circle, and the madness that took Knight Commander Meredith. Maxwell could see that Cullen was distraught, the Inquisitor didn’t miss the tears held back in Cullen’s eyes. Then, almost like something had snapped in Cullen’s mind, he began to blame himself, searching inside himself for an answer of why beating his addiction was so hard. The Inquisitor only spoke when Cullen looked at him, but when Cullen asserted that he should start taking lyrium again, he had had enough.

“Cullen, listen to me.” It was assertive enough to make the Commander stop his ranting, but soft enough to keep him calm. “You’re not going to start taking it again. It’s not what you want, and it’s not what I want. The Inquisition doesn’t need you to sacrifice everything for it.” Cullen tried to speak back, but was silenced by a finger on his lips. “ ** _I_** will decide if you're unfit to Command my forces. I’ve been with Templars all of my life. Besides, you’re not exactly a neutral observer…” Maxwell’s hand moved to Cullen’s cheek, allowing him to lean into it. “You did a stunning job at Adamant, you’ll get through this, and I’m here to help you.”

“Inquis-“

“Maxwell.”

“Maxwell… I don’t know how bad this is going to get. I’ve watched countless men suffer and die from this. It’s terrifying.” Cullen took Maxwell’s hand in his, and cast a cold look at the floor. “It could get worse before it gets better.”

The Inquisitor sighed and placed his other hand on Cullen’s, “Don’t give up Cullen. You’re the bravest man I know, and I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.” He pulled Cullen into an embrace, whispering the last two words into his ear again. He felt Cullen’s shoulders relax as he pulled away.

“Very well.” The Commander turned back to his desk, and sat down in front of a pile of paper reports and missives. With a sigh he picked one up, only to put it down again when he noticed that the Inquisitor hadn’t moved. “I really should get back to work.”

Maxwell’s eyebrow was raised. He knew that Cullen was still unsure of this, he could see it on his face. There was only one way that Maxwell could think of that would show Cullen how important it was that he stayed where he was. "Come with me.”

———

Maxwell swooped out of the Cullen’s office, and headed towards the armoury to grab Cassandra. He also found his new Battlemage Armour under a cloth, and asked them both to help put it on. It was important he looked the part for the desired effect to take hold. Cullen eventually caught up with them, and all three of them then headed down into the valley, to where the soldiers were camped. Once they arrived, Maxwell arranged for a team of personal bodyguards to escort them through the camp, so it didn’t look like an inspection. “Cullen… just listen.” Slowly, they began to weave through the tents. As they marched through the camp, soldiers began to put down their things and salute the trio, some even muttered Maxwell’s title, along with a greeting. Others addressed Cassandra, and saluted her too. The vast majority however, simply spoke ‘Commander’. Serious, short, and simple, but their intent was clear. It took them more than forty minutes to walk through the camp, but they soon found themselves back at the path to the castle. Cullen had been silent the entire time. Maxwell let Cassandra go ahead, telling her that he’d find her once he was back. Maxwell’s eyebrow raised once more when he turned to look at his Commander. He led Cullen away from the camp into a groove in the cliffside, so that nobody would be able to hear what was being said.

“Do you see now? How important you are? Not just to me, not just to the organisation, but to every single soldier down here that saluted you.” Maxwell’s hand found itself on Cullen’s shoulder again. “ ** _You_** are their commander. Not Cassandra, not anybody she would recommend, **_you_**. They follow **_you_**.” Maxwell was pointing at Cullen, but his face was soft. He was pleading with Cullen, not shouting at him. If anything made Cullen melt it was the Inquisitor needing him, and him alone. “Only one person can command them the way we… the way I need them to be led.” Maxwell began to walk up the path towards the keep, leaving Cullen with the forces. “Remember what I said. Take dinner with me in my room later, we’ve got a lot to talk about before the ball.”

Cullen simply stood there for a moment, allowing himself a smile, before turning to check on the drills. Today had reminded him just how proud he was to be commanding the Inquisition’s forces, and how proud he was to be following Maxwell.

———

Maxwell padded around the castle after talking to Cassandra, letting her know that he had talked Cullen down from his perch of self despair. He idled about in the war room authorising covert missions and military shows of power, and in the library looking for books containing magical theory to try and boost his spells some more, he was just doing everything he could to keep himself busy. The truth was, on his desk was probably a pile of missives that he was supposed to be reading, and probably some new intelligence on the upcoming ball, but it was now too late for him to do anything significant to the plans that were already in motion. He trusted Leliana to do what was necessary to the plans to make them as effective as possible. He found himself sat on the floor in a dark corner of the library, with a small flame in his hand, pondering over an old tome about controlling healing spells. Helisma would occasionally mutter about research items that he'd submitted, to which he’d never listen to and just grunted in reply.

Dorian eventually found him sat there, and raised an eyebrow at the level of control that he had over his fire magic. “So you do find some unique magic in the circles of the south… impressive.” The Tevinter took a look at the dusty floor next to Maxwell, and winced as he sat down. “Control of a flame like that must take years of work.”

Maxwell merely grunted back, just like he had at Helsima, prompting Dorian to nudge his side. “Sorry. I did mean to reply, but it’s become habit.” He reserved his page and looked over at Dorian. “I had to learn to control my flame if I wanted to evade the Templars after curfew.”

“Sneaking out after curfew eh? Naughty, naughty.” Dorian’s smirk and wiggling eyebrows made Maxwell snort. “Sounds absolutely rotten. I can’t imagine being in a cage like that. It’s a wonder your magical abilities developed at all.”

“It was more to protect whichever of the soldiers had decided to boink me that night, than it was to protect me. My magical abilities developed long before I joined the circle. Besides, the Templars knew that I could pull the building down and kill every one of them if I wanted to…” He put the book down, so he could focus. “I had a mentor in the alienage in Ostwick.” Maxwell snapped his fingers and the flame remained suspended in the air above them. “She was the most important person in the world to me.” A sigh. “She trained me to keep my magic secret and then to allow me to defend myself if the Templars ever came after me.”

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing, or at least I don’t know. My family found out about…” Maxwell let his head drop. “One of the servants caught me with another Bann’s son and…”

Dorian’s eyes seemed genuinely warm and understanding when he replied, “I get the picture.”

“So anyway, when my father lashed out at me I lost control and sent him hurtling across the hall of our house. The Templars took me the next day.” Another sigh. “I was sixteen. It wasn’t pretty. I never saw my mentor again, I’d ask Leliana but I’d rather go to Ostwick myself. I can still remember the soft vegetable stew she’d give me if I ever over-exerted myself…”

“She sounds like an amazing woman.” Dorian put his hand carefully on Maxwell’s knee. “If you were sixteen then, how old does that make you now?”

“I was born in 9:19”

Dorian gasped, so loudly that Helsima turned and frowned at him for distracting her, “You’re lying!”

Maxwell looked at his hands, frowning at how battered they looked, “I look much older than I am.” Another sigh. “What about you?”

Dorian grinned, almost freakishly wide “Oh no Trevelyan. Here I was assuming that I was the youngest and therefore most desirable bachelor around here, then along you come and tell me you’re twenty two! I'm feeling quite slighted…” It was Dorian’s turn to sigh. “I’m thirty.”

The Inquisitor allowed himself a giggle, “Apologies for the slight.” As he let his smile drop, Maxwell poked at the dust on the floor before deciding to say the first thing that came to his mind, “You’re the same age as Cullen.”

“What? Cullen is _that young_ … and attractive-“ Maxwell nudged Dorian in the ribs “Ah yes, how is our Commander? I haven’t seen him properly since the battle.”

“He’s…" Maxwell inspected his now filthy finger before going back to poking the dust, “He’s having some trouble with lyrium withdrawal.” Dorian’s brow furrowed, prompting a more detailed answer. “He’s suffering from migraines and some pain in his sides. He tried to quit on me earlier…” Maxwell’s next sigh caused Dorian to slap his knee.

“You keep sighing. Stop it, it’s irritating.”

Maxwell giggled again, this time at Dorian’s feigned annoyance. “Sorry. I just don’t know what I’d do without him.” 

“Well the castle would certainly be worse off in the aesthetics department… But I’ve seen the way you look at him. The way you reach for him when you need a shoulder to cry on.” Maxwell's eyebrow raised which made Dorian let out a huff. “Don’t deny it. You’re crazy about him. It’s adorable, if not a little bit sickening.”

“Yeah…” Maxwell’s thoughts drifted into all of the things he wishes that he had with Cullen, and how he had none of it. He wanted the war to be over as soon as possible.

The mages continued to talk for some time, mostly about their families. Maxwell told Dorian everything. How his eldest brother, who was the only member of the family that still spoke to him, and his half brother were also at the Conclave. How his sister eloped with an already-married Comte. How another of his other brothers moved to Ferelden after he became a Templar, and who was probably now dead. How he was now apparently ‘Heir’ of the family that treated him with such disdain. How he’d never known his mother because she died giving birth to him. Dorian’s list was, of course, just as depressing. They were cut off by the kitchen bell ringing, which meant Maxwell needed to go to his quarters.

The Inquisitor needed to get something off his chest first though, “Dorian…”

“Yes Maxwell?”

“You’re my best friend. I hope you know that. Thank-you for not treating me differently like everyone else does.”

Dorian’s mischievous grin reappeared, “Oh please, you’re not at all important enough to be treated different. It’s not like you’re the only person who can save the world or anything like that.” Dorian nudged Maxwell’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend too.”

———

When Maxwell reached his quarters, he found Cullen waiting for him. The Commander was making a habit of taking his armour off around Maxwell. It was nice to see that he could relax when he was around him. The Inquisitor’s biggest worry was that Cullen would see him as nothing more than his leader. Today though, Cullen was wearing a tight fitting black shirt, along with some black trousers that showed off… everything. Maxwell held his stare too long, which made Cullen turn bright red. When they entered the room, Cullen simply stood in front of Maxwell. It was obvious that he was trying to say something, but struggling to find the words.

“I just wanted to say… thank-you. I think.” Cullen sighed “I’m never good at this, but you have no idea how grateful I am... for earlier. Thank-you.”

Maxwell snaked his arms around Cullen’s waist and stepped into a tight hug. “Did you really think I’d let you go? I’m glad you listened to me.” Cullen curled his arms around Maxwell, both standing there for several minutes before they heard a knock at the door. When the Inquisitor opened the door, several kitchen hands scurried about bringing the food across to the desk, the last one leaving after bringing in another chair, so that Cullen could sit and eat too. Maxwell reached under the desk to pull out a rather expensive looking bottle of wine, which he opened with a flick of his hand. “I wanted to talk to you about the ball… it's getting very close now, and we’ll be setting off for Halamshiral tomorrow evening.” Maxwell passed Cullen a glass, as he lifted his own, taking a large gulp. “I understand that you’ve never been to an Orlesian… ‘get together’ before.”

Cullen shook his head, “Never. I can’t say I ever had any desire to go to one either.”

“That’s just the thing. Cullen, I won’t lie to you - you’re one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met.” Cullen tried to interrupt but was silenced by Maxwell’s raised hand. “Orlesian women are… incorrigible in their flirting.” Cullen couldn’t help his jaw from dropping slightly. “They are going to analyse every small detail of you, from how your costume hugs your arms, to the scar you have on your lip. I… wanted to warn you, and prepare you for… probably the most ridiculous night of your life.” Cullen was just about managing to eat albeit very slowly, while Maxwell was devouring his meal, “Don’t worry too much, I’ll do my best to protect you.”

“How in the blazers am I supposed to not worry when you’ve told me that these women intend to rip me to pieces?” Cullen was serious but he couldn’t help but laugh at the situation that faced them. They’d survived the Conclave blast, they’d survived Haven, they’d survived a trek into an unknown wilderness, they’d survived a full assault on the grey wardens and a demon army at Adamant… now they faced the terrifying real threat of… _Orlesians_. It didn’t take long before Maxwell too was chuckling to himself, and time began to fly by as they sat making jokes at the butt of the people they were about to spend an intimate political evening with. It did help put Cullen’s mind at ease that Maxwell would be there too; no doubt under the same scrutiny as he would be, if not worse.

Cullen used a pause in the jokes to ask a more serious question, “What do you think about Corypheus’ plan to assassinate Celene?”

“I’ve tried not to think about it.” Maxwell stood and walked to the balcony, and Cullen followed. “I know there are some people who think I should let it happen, and put Gaspard on the throne.” The Inquisitor lit the torches and braziers to prevent the cold from biting too hard, “But I can't allow that. Celene is _far_ from perfect. But Gaspard… he’s unpredictable. I don’t think I can trust him to support the Inquisition when it matters the most.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose.” There was a long silence after that. The Commander knew how much the decisions weighed on the Inquisitor; he’d seen him break down, he’d seen his anger flare almost uncontrollably… Cullen knew that this decision was no different. “I hope you know that you’re doing a good job.”

“Pardon?”

“Leading the Inquisition. You’re doing a good job, and I know I’m not at all alone in that opinion.” Cullen put his hand on Maxwell’s forearm. “None of us could lead it as successfully as you have. A lot of the men would follow you to the edge of the earth… myself included.” Maxwell looked away then, letting out a shaky breath. The Commander wanted to pour his heart out to the Inquisitor; he wanted to make sure that he knew that without him, the Inquisition would falter.

“Thank-you, Cullen.” The Inquisitor sniffed, clearly trying to hold back some tears. “I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.” Maxwell grabbed Cullen’s free hand and tangled their fingers together. “You scared me today… I…”

The Inquisitor’s head turned again, but once Cullen saw the first tear fall from his cheek, he pulled Maxwell into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise… I’m sorry I scared you.”

They stood there for a while, the Commander holding up the Inquisitor, doing what felt right, Cullen couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the sky looked from this high up, it really was a sight to behold. However, it didn’t take too long for Maxwell to mumble how tired he was, and for Cullen to lift him back into the room and onto the bed. By the time Cullen had closed the doors and put out the fires, Maxwell was fast asleep, and he’d even kicked off his breeches and (most) of his shirt. Cullen helped Maxwell’s arms out of his shirt, making sure not to wake him up before pulling his own over his head. When the Commander was lying flat on his back, Maxwell sleepily pulled himself onto his chest. When Cullen’s arm rested on Maxwell’s waist, it was all he needed to get the best nights sleep he had had in years.

———

The castle was a flurry of activity when Maxwell woke the next day. He was still in a dazed state when he sat up and looked over at Cullen writing memos on his desk, still without his shirt on. Cullen looked over, just as the Inquisitor was sitting up, he couldn’t help but smile. Maxwell however, wore a soft frown. “You should have woke me up.”

“I didn’t have the heart to. Besides, all of the preparations are in hand. There are a reason your advisors exist, you know?” It was Cullen’s turn to raise his hand to silence Maxwell. “Josie has the move completely under control, and Leliana has already given me two reports confirming her people are in position.”

“I need to get dressed.”

“We’re not leaving for another six hours Maxwell, please relax.” Cullen picked up a letter bearing a horse sigil, with flowing text on the front. He passed it to the Inquisitor. “This one… I didn’t read.”

 

_Lord Inquisitor Maxwell James Trevelyan_

_Skyhold Keep_

 

“I’ll read it later. It’s from my father.” Maxwell threw the letter on the desk as he stood up and moved over to Cullen. “You helped me feel a lot better about everything last night.” Maxwell kissed Cullen on the cheek, just as Leliana burst through the door.

She raised her hand to her mouth, “Inquisitor! My apologies, have you received word from Ostwick?”

“I have… I haven’t opened it. What’s wrong?”

Leliana walked over to the desk and grabbed the letter. She opened it to confirm what she had been told. “It’s your father, Maxwell. He has fallen ill, and they don’t believe he will last much longer.”

“Why would my family in Ostwick think that I care if he’s sick?” Maxwell was genuinely confused. His family, the ones that loved him anyway, had all been killed at the Conclave. His father was one of the least forgiving people in the world, who viewed him as an embarrassment. Even if he was the heir of the family, he wouldn’t receive anything.

“The letter is from him. Read it. This will certainly come up during the ball tonight.”

Maxwell took the letter, and looked to Cullen, “Stay with me… while I read this.” Cullen nodded, and took hold of the Inquisitor’s hand, sitting them both down on the bed as Leliana bowed out of the door. Maxwell wasn’t upset by the letter, he just didn’t expect its contents.

 

_My son,_

_I wish I could say I were only writing this letter as an offering of peace, of reconciliation, and of the admittance of my mistakes. But Maxwell, I am dying, of my broken heart from my lost children._

_I keep going for only one reason, you. My boy, you are my last child, my heir. I have been a terrible father to you, and all I can say to try to make up for it, is tell you how sorry I am. How sorry I am it took me eight years, and my deathbed, to make me realise this._

_I have been in contact with your ambassador, who refused to speculate on your feelings for your family. So there is something I must ask. You are the last of theTrevelyans in my line, if you were to die the house would pass to a cousin of yours. Please do not let this happen. Please, for your own sake and for the sake of your family - be careful. Please consider continuing the line on your side of the family as well._

_I know you prefer the company of men, but if there was any chance you would be able to continue the line, please do so._

_I know that I have no right to ask you this. But I would never rest in peace if I had not. Please, try to visit me before I pass._

_Best wishes,_

_Bann Horace Trevelyan,_

_Your Father._

 

The letter set alight in Maxwell’s hands. If Cullen had taken any stress from his shoulders, this had added the weight straight back on. Maxwell pulled Cullen down flat on the mattress so he could lay on his chest again, he had already had enough for one morning.


	4. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooo it's a double update! (I owe you that much) This one is quite short at just less than 2000 words, but it's one of my favourite ones so far! The regal towers of fair Halamshiral, where we lay our scene...

Of course, the ball was a nightmare. Grand Duchess Florianne had been a pain in the neck, luring and scheming when she could have stabbed Celene in the back before the ball had even begun. Her own thirst for attention had been her downfall, and if Maxwell was being honest, that made him hate her more. In fact, it made him resent Orlais, and the ‘game’ itself. The main bonus for attendance was getting to meet Morrigan. He’d heard tales of the dark haired apostate who became a close companion of the Hero of Ferelden, as the intrigue of the blight spread about Ostwick. The stories continued well into his time at the Circle there, and even inspired some of Maxwell’s own spell combinations, in fact almost all of his destructive nature spells were inspired by Morrigan. His least favourite part of the night was hearing all of the nobility with even the slightest connection to the Free Marches offer their ‘sympathies’ on his father’s ill health. He earned a few raised eyebrows every time he refused to talk about his family, stating that he had nothing to do with them. That was, of course, until Empress Celene herself addressed the problem, to which he merely thanked her for her sympathies.

He was standing on the balcony now, talking idly to his new “Orlesian attaché”, but really he was just taking in the music, and attempting to ignore the stabbing pain in his ribs. Florianne had landed herself a lucky shot in between his plates, and he had neither the strength nor the mana to heal it fully. He was just glad to be out of his armour, and back into his jet black robes. Once Morrigan took her leave, it wasn’t long before Cullen padded out onto the balcony. Max chuckled at how sheepish and tired he looked, but he supposed they had been up at the crack of dawn to make their way to Halamshiral. He knew that Cullen hadn’t exactly enjoyed being at the party, since he was surrounded by incorrigible women oggling his tight fitting clothes. He couldn’t blame them, the Commander’s ass looked amazing in those breeches, but he got defensive anyway, and the look of gratitude on Cullen’s face after the women were scared off my an intimate look, and a lingering and very obvious hand on the Commander’s bicep. It made Maxwell chuckle just recalling it, but he was quickly silenced when he felt a hand on his lower back.

“You should wear this robe more often. It’s… very complimentary.” Cullen’s voice was as soft as his touch. “I’ll take the way you were staring at my buttocks as confirmation that I should do the same.”

Maxwell struggled to contain his laughter, he felt his walls coming down now that Cullen was here, and as he turned around he managed to spot Dorian Pavus, the beautiful genius, closing the doors to the balcony so that nobody would interrupt them.

Cullen’s hands moved to rest on Maxwell’s waist, but as they pulled each other into an embrace, Maxwell’s wound betrayed him, and he hissed out in pain and recoiled from the Commander’s chest. “Max… You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch. I healed most of it but I didn’t have enough time to get the rest.” The Inquisitor placed Cullen’s hands back on his waist, and leant back against the edge of the balcony. “I promise, it’s not serious.”

Cullen hummed, wondering whether to believe Max or to get him in trouble with Leliana. He opted to wait until they went back inside to insist that he find Vivienne to heal the wound. “I… Came here to ask you something.” Cullen’s fingers interlaced with Maxwell’s. “I know I promised you a dance but you’re hurt, so you’ll just have to settle for me listening to me ramble on about pointless nothings.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” Maxwell felt himself relax again, giving Cullen’s fingers a light squeeze, urging him to continue.

“I know once we’re done here that we’re going to Ostwick. Hearing about your father… It got me thinking about my own family. About how I haven’t visited them since I left Kinloch Hold.” Cullen stepped closer, so that he could rest his chin on Maxwell’s head. “You’re… my first serious partner. I suppose I’m asking… if we have time…would you mind-“

Maxwell laughed, cutting Cullen off, who huffed but kissed his partner’s hair. “Of course I’ll come with you. Dummy.”

“That… I’m very glad.” Cullen kissed Maxwell’s head again, “I’m so glad that I have you.”

Maxwell stood up, staring into Cullen’s eyes. He placed a palm lightly on the Commander’s cheek. Their foreheads met, and they could feel each other’s breath on their faces. Almost as if someone were reading their minds, the faint music coming from the ballroom changed, seamlessly transitioning into a slow, but almost laughably romantic waltz. Max felt Cullen’s grip on his waist tighten, before he took a small step forward, the two of them now nearly flush against each other. Cullen nearly whimpered when Maxwell removed his hand from his face, but when he felt two hands wrapped around his neck, he whispered in Maxwell’s ear, “I promised you a dance.”

Their dance was by no means extravagant, and followed absolutely no usual waltz etiquette, but it was theirs. For a few minutes, they could pretend that they were anywhere other than the Orlesian Winter Palace, and time fell away. The heat swelled up in Maxwell’s chest so much that he could no longer feel the dull ache where the arrow punctured his ribcage, and every one of Cullen’s breaths that tickled his cheeks, his stomach made a fluttering that he couldn’t explain. The feeling was much the same for the Commander; who, for a moment or two, had totally forgotten that he even was a Commander. In this moment, he was just Cullen Rutherford, dancing with his Maxwell Trevelyan. Everything was right and nothing was wrong. When the music transitioned into something slightly faster again, Cullen stopped in his tracks. Maxwell’s breath hitched as he opened his eyes to see the other man staring at him, his jaw slightly slack. He was about to question what he was looking at, but before he got the chance, he felt Cullen’s lips on his own. It was a kiss like he’d never experienced before, it was soft, slow, and wanting.The way Cullen followed his mouth made him feel every single ounce of need. He couldn’t help but chase the kiss deeper, running his fingers into the short hairs on the back of Cullen’s head; aching to make his Lion feel every ounce of his own need right back. It ended at the perfect moment, both of them pulling slightly backwards at the same time, their lips swollen and their breath short, it was obvious that Maxwell was also growing pale with fatigue. They were stood there for nearly a minute before Maxwell managed to speak.

“I’m tired… I need you to take me to bed…”

Cullen didn’t need to be told twice. He took Maxwell’s hand, and led him through the dwindling crowd in the Palace, towards their quarters for the night.

———

Maxwell woke up wearing nothing but the golden silk bedsheets and a bandage wrapped around his chest. His wound felt tight but it was clear that a mage had healed it. He also felt the sting of a potion on his skin, and he gritted his teeth at the prospect that he forgot about the possibility of poison. He wrapped the golden sheet around him like a tunic, and walked over to the mirror, inspecting the dark circles underneath his eyes, and the thick mess that was his hair. Once he had made himself presentable, he changed into the sleeveless black tunic and tight black breeches that were supposed to be worn with his dress robe. After one last inspection, he stepped into his boots to find his advisers.

He first came to a window, where he could hear swordplay, and peered out to see Cullen training with a man who, judging by his tunic, was a Chevalier. He stood there, careful to remain out of sight so that he didn’t distract Cullen. The Commander gave no such courtesy, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, when he removed his own tunic to reveal his bare torso. That was the chest that made Maxwell feel so safe. Cullen was, to but it lightly, much larger than the majority of the other men that the Inquisitor had doted on, but if Maxwell had a preferred body type, it’d probably be much the same as Cullen’s. The pectoral muscles that acted as his pillow when they Cullen took care of him. The slight bumps over each scar that the Commander had picked up over the years. The abdominal muscles that reminded him of the washboard that the servants in Ostwick used to use to remove difficult stains in his clothes. Cullen’s shoulders were his favourite though; reliable, solid, fierce. He didn’t even realise how caught up in his own head he was, until someone’s voice made him jump out of his own skin.

“If you bite your lip any harder, you’ll draw blood!” Leliana stood a few paces behind him, exhibiting exactly why she was his spymaster.

Maxwell eased the tension in his shoulders, “You try not being captivated by that chest.”

“If I am being perfectly honest, Inquisitor. His chest is much… manlier, than I prefer.” Leliana’s smirk was fleeting, but she moved to stand in the way of the window to get Maxwell’s full attention. “You didn’t even think to come to me for an antidote did you?”

Maxwell’s face fell into a frown, “I wouldn’t have needed to if I had trained enough to make my mana pool large enough. You were enjoying the party, and I didn’t wish to interrupt.”

“You could have died Maxwell! We need you as strong as you can be.” Leliana placed her hand onto the Inquisitor’s wrist. “You’re our leader, and we need to beat Corypheus.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should thank Cullen for making sure you saw me.” Maxwell was about to turn around before Leliana caught his arm. “You obviously didn’t come to scold me then. What is it?”

Leliana frowned, “I’ve had some troubling reports coming from Ostwick. You should head straight there this afternoon. I’ve already told Cullen, and he’s insisting to accompany you, considering your wound.”

“Of course he did.” Maxwell laughed. There was no way Cullen was going to let him out of sight for a while after that stunt. He felt his cheeks heat up, and his gut twist. He couldn’t help but let a dorky smile cross his face. “I’ve definitely fallen for the Inquisition’s Lion.”

Leliana smiled back, “It would seem so.” She held one of Maxwell’s hands and patted it lightly, “I am warning you though, if you hurt him, Cassandra will kill you.” At that, they both barked out the ugliest laughs possible, probably waking up half of the drunken nobles in their wing. It took them several minutes to compose themselves, but by then they were both sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall for support.

The Spymaster stood, also helping the Inquisitor to his feet, she began to lead him back towards his chambers, it was then she remembered something that seemed important, “Oh yes. The details of the attaché that will accompany you to Ostwick. Here, let me redress your wound while I brief you…”


	5. Warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter of this double update, if you haven't read waltz, go back nooooow! Here my foreshadowing arc comes to an end before we get down into the gritty final bits of the Corypheus Arc. Enjoy!

The ride to Ostwick was always unbearable. It meant sailing into Kirkwall for one, and it also meant riding along the windy, jagged, bandit infested coastline of the Marches. Cullen insisted on making the journey with Maxwell, also insisting on a full guard complement so that bandits would steer well clear, and avoid any conflict, although the guard was there so that the party didn’t have to travel in their usual armour, opting for leather padded clothes instead of their usual metal plates. Of course Dorian had decided to follow too, although he tended to stay at the back, chit chatting to whichever guard would listen. There were only minor inconveniences, including some brave highwaymen attempting to ‘toll’ the road between the two cities, but as soon as they realised who they were messing with, they fell to their knees and begged the maker for mercy. The Inquisitor tried exceptionally hard not to take any entertainment from the fear that he had come to elicit from petty thieves and criminals, but the smile on his face as he rode passed their quivering forms on the side of the road was impossible to miss. Cullen had to stop himself from laughing too, opting for a quick snort and nothing more. Besides Kirkwall, the roads, and the bandits, Maxwell’s worrying for Cullen became nearly obsessive. It didn’t go unnoticed either. The whispers about their relationship that were shared by the accompanying guards were all too often overheard by the Inquisitor and the Commander, which generally made Cullen blush slightly, even if his mouth twitched into a light smile.

The one respite that Maxwell had, was that they could now see the dual walls of Ostwick on the horizon, meaning they had mere minutes left of their journey. The silence however, was too much for the Inquisitor. “Have you ever been to Ostwick, Cullen?”

“Can’t say I have. I wrote to the Templars there a lot when I was stationed in Kirkwall, but the circles fell before I ever got the chance to go.”

Maxwell hummed, “I’ll show you what’s left of the Ostwick circle when we get there. You’ll be glad you never made it.”

Cullen’s face darkened, “I heard it was particularly violent.” His head bowed too, almost as if he was ashamed of his past as a Templar.

The Inquisitor couldn’t help but snort, “Cullen, you were one of the good guys.” He pointed to what looked like a jagged ruin on the far side of the city. “That’s the ruined tower on the inner walls. That’s what happens when templars abuse their power and underestimate a noble born mage.” Cullen’s mouth dropped wide open. “The tower was all but empty at that point, most of the mages walked straight out of the city. But some of the abominations came for me in my quarters too.”

“I’ve never seen a single mage do something like that before.”

Maxwell chuckled fully this time, muffling his laugh with his hand, “I had help. The horrors that were formed by the few blood mages weakened the entire floor of the tower. I just gave the… explosive finale it needed to collapse. Luckily nobody innocent was hurt. All except…”

The flames that erupted in front of their path interrupted Maxwell mid-sentence. The mage fade stepped off of his horse, reaching to the greatsword on his back. Dorian appeared at his side moments later, just as their attackers showed their faces. The Qunari in front of them were clearly Vashoth, probably some mercenary band. With one swift movement, Dorian froze three of them, whilst Maxwell stared down who he guessed was the leader, who laughed in a strong voice.

“They told me you were a mage. That’s an awfully big sword for a mage.”

The snide comment angered Maxwell. “I am Inquisitor Trevelyan. Get out of my way and I promise I’ll be nice to your face.”

The entire band of Qunari, numbering maybe 20 laughed at the same time, “I am Adaar. I’m not here to attack you.” He threw a message at the Inquisitor’s feet, who flicked his fingers so the message would levitate in front of him.

He sheathed his “You could have really left out the fire then. Doesn’t exactly send a nice impression.” Maxwell flicked his wrist again, thawing the men that Dorian had frozen solid. “Sending me a warning about an assassination plot. Huh. Now I’m glad I brought all of these guards. Nevertheless..” Maxwell threw a small gold pouch at the leader. “If I see you at Skyhold when I get back, there’s more where that came from.”

“Pleasure doing business with you Inquisitor. Remember, the threat is closer than you think.”

 

_Trevelyan,_

_We were approached by a wealthy noble from Ostwick with a price on your life. There was no reasoning for their hit, so we turned it down. All I can tell you is that they bore a sigil of a horse. We’re not stupid, we’re not about to fuck with the Inquisition. Someone else took the job._

_Adaar._

 

Cullen and Dorian read the message once the Qunari had departed, leaving scorched earth and tense soldiers behind them. “The horse is the symbol of House Trevelyan. My family. Probably someone who wants my rightful titles.”

Dorian grinned and seemed to bounce back to his horse, “How delicious. Family feuds. I thought this trip to Ostwick was supposed to be boring… how wrong could I be?”

Cullen and Maxwell shared a look, before lifting themselves onto their own horses, unable to stop themselves from falling into giggling as Dorian scowled at them both.

———

The Trevelyan Manor was… quiet. Maxwell spun around at the empty hall, noticing that the majority of the furniture and a vast quantity of the fine art was no longer in the house. The Manor wasn’t just quiet, it was too quiet, so quiet that the Inquisitor could almost hear every particle of dust in the air. His father’s wing was to the back of the hall, the connecting door being the only one that was open. Signalling the guards to form a contained perimeter outside, Cullen eventually shuffled closer to Maxwell, so that he could be ready if anything were to go wrong, it was then that a tall, immensely pale woman with the same light green eyes as Maxwell shimmered out of the open doorway.

“Cousin Celeste.” Maxwell’s contempt was clear with his voice, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Dorian barked out a laugh, “She looks more like your sister. The resemblance is… quite eerie.”

“No, Maxwell, I am not supposed to be here.” Celeste picked at a sofa that she had come to stand next to, disturbing a light cloud of dust before she pushed it away with her magical talents. “Some of us didn’t stoop so low as to fuck templars to gain comfort in the Circle…”

Cullen mumbled something under his breath about how they should have all worn their usual protective gear, but Maxwell placed his had on his shoulder to reassure him before stepping towards Celeste. “You weren’t in Ostwick circle, so I can’t pretend to know what it was like.” Maxwell’s smirk was making Celeste visibly angry. “Dear cousin, I didn’t fuck the templars because I wanted comfort. A lot of the time I didn’t really get much of a choice.” He felt Cullen wince next to him, obviously that was a conversation they’d have later. He ran his finger over another sofa, before setting the dust alight. “Now, tell me what you’re doing in my house.”

“This isn’t your house Max. Your father’s not dead yet.”

“Which is why I am struggling to figure out why you’re here.”

“You’re really asking why I’m not dead. After all I was one of the mages that stoked the uprisings in my circle.” She inspected her nails, “I may not be as powerful as the might Maxwell Trevelyan the second, but I’m still a skilled enough mage to escape on my own.”

Maxwell placed his head in his palm, “You really are as much of a fool as I thought you were. I knew you resented the Circles but until now I didn’t believe-“ The Inquisitor was silenced when a sharp spear of ice crashed against his ward. He didn’t move, and neither did Cullen or Dorian. Celeste was frozen in place by a click of Maxwell’s hands, and he moved to circle his cousin. “You’re a blood mage. I can feel the demon on your spell. It’s a good thing you didn’t properly try to kill me, or else I wouldn’t let you go, but get out of this house, and don’t come back until Horace is dead.”

When Celeste dropped to the floor, weakened by Maxwell’s binding spell, she shook herself off. She moved quickly towards the door, but not before she managed to spit on the ground where Maxwell stood. 

“Charming. Reminds me of several cousins of mine. Particularly the ones who I’ve disgraced over the years.” Dorian’s grin brought Cullen back into the room, and the three of them visibly relaxed.

“Celeste isn’t the would-be assassin. Which really leaves only one more option.” The Inquisitor beckoned Cullen to come to him, lacing their hands together as he got close enough. “Time to meet my father.”

Maxwell led the pair through the large house, with much of the art impressing even Dorian. The entire way towards Bann Trevelyan’s chambers

“Maxwell… You’re here.”

“Hello father. It’s been quite a while.” He stepped into the light, pulling Cullen along behind him. “This is Cullen. He’s my partner, and my Commander in the Inquisition.”

Bann Trevelyan tutted, “I thought you knew better than to bring your obscene toys into my presence. The last one got you sent to the circle.”

“Well here it is father, and you’re going to let me speak now until I am finished. I knew that the letter that I received was too good to be true. I even knew that it was a mistake to send you a detailed letter of how I survived the Mage Uprising in my first communication to you upon becoming Lord Inquisitor. I knew that your disposition towards my love life ran too deep for this to be a social call, but I didn’t know that you were so stupid as to try to assassinate the only man capable of saving all of Thedas from the threat we now face. You are so blind to your so called faith, that you would kill your youngest son to preserve your already tattered reputation. I **_love_** Cullen. He’s not like the **_boys_** you found me screwing every time you begrudgingly visited the Circle while your wife was still alive, he’s a good man. He makes me feel wanted, and warm, and safe, and… I love him. No matter how many assassins you try to hire with your waning fortune, you would never be able to extinguish how I feel about him, or change me into a person who loves women.” Maxwell blew the candles out around the room with his magic. “You will never be able to erase the fact that I was born a mage. You will never be able to erase the fact that I am possibly the most powerful mage in all Thedas. You will never be able to erase that you failed in your sole duty to me as a father. I will enjoy taking this house off of your hands when you die, just so I can throw away all of these disgusting horse crested furniture, and replace them with the Lion, from Cullen’s family and homeland. I will never give you the satisfaction of winning at anything. You lose papa. You lost the moment you cast me out.”

“You’re a vile creature Maxwell. You don’t deserve the breath I am wasting on-“ The Bann was cut off by a violent, hacking cough. “Besides, I’ve already willed that the estate be left to Celeste. You’re too late to spite me in that way, **_boy_**.”

“Celeste is a blood mage. Under Ostwick’s laws, she won’t own any land, least of all the estate of a noble Ostwick House. Also, since Maxwell is already a man of significant title, it’s customary for him to receive seized property from a city such as this. If I know our Ambassador, the missive has already been sent to the Teyrn of Ostwick.” Cullen’s voice was confident, and loud. He was clearly irritated by the Bann, but it made Maxwell’s chest swell with pride to hear him defend him.

The next thing the Inquisitor did was hover his hand over his father’s head. “Ah, a blood infection, how typical of Oswick nobility to die like this. Utterly treatable by my magic, but he’d only be executed by the Inquisition anyway.” Dorian winced, clearly remembering the conversation he had with his own father in Redcliffe. The Inquisitor continued anyway. “Dorian, send for the guards and ask the Captain to request a household staff be sent from the keep. Also post two guards on my father’s chambers, and seal the windows with magical wards. We’re going to allow him the death he promised me in his letter. Meanwhile, I’ll show you to **_our_** chambers.”

Dorian spun on his heel to fetch the guards, with Maxwell and Cullen striding out of the room, keeping up the facade until the door behind them slammed shut.

“Maxwell…” Cullen pulled the Inquisitor into a warm hug, trying to make him feel safe, and to remind him that he wasn’t alone, “… your father’s a dying breed in this part of Thedas.” Maxwell nodded into Cullen’s chest, breathing slowly to try to calm down. He’d wanted to say those things to his father about the last boy he fell for. Little did he know that it’d feel so much better waiting until he had Cullen there to hold his hand.

“I should contact the rest of the Trevelyans in Ostwick… especially after they informed Leliana’s agents about his sickness.” the Inquisitor wriggled out of Cullen’s hold, “Follow me to our chambers, after I’ll go to the other houses personally to notify them… I’ll give you some of my brother’s clothes to wear too. I didn’t plan on staying… but we’re going to be here for a little while.”

———

Cullen felt like a pompous idiot, sitting around in the ridiculous gilded clothes that Maxwell had given him. He felt like an obstacle, even if he knew it was stupid. His mind continued to mull over the rant that Maxwell had spat at his father an hour or so earlier, particularly focussing on the part where he declared “I love him”, which he was only just starting to react to. At first, it made his head spin, to think that the Inquisitor’s feelings for him were strong enough that he would essentially shout them from the rooftops, particularly to his father, whom had just tried to have him murdered. It was already enough of a personal obstacle to wander so far from their mission, and now the Inquisitor would have to deal with Cullen’s obsessiveness too.

He decided to bury himself in work instead, he’d brought some tactical papers with him just in case he ever got a chance to look at them. He meticulously picked through every scenario, trying his best to judge a decisive and proportional response. Most of the problems were small pockets of Red Templars, or an incredibly dangerous blood mage on the run. The latter struck a chord with the Commander. He thought how just a few short months ago, his reaction to this case would be something along the lines of ‘all apostates and blood mages are enemies of the chantry, and must be brought to heel’. It was clear to Cullen that Maxwell was having a profound effect on him, not like he was changing him how he saw fit, but that he was patient and coherent when he struggled slightly to understand. He’d just about figured out the best route to apprehend the blood mage when there was a light tap on the door, but where he expected Maxwell to appear, Dorian stood in his place.

Dorian was running his hands through his moustache, clearly up to no good. “My dearest Cullen, I have finally found you! These Marcher houses are so draughty and drab, I was just aching for some company.”

Cullen looked back down at the missives and letters in front of him. “I’m surprised that you didn’t accompany the Inquisitor to call on his family members. There are still assassins at large.”

“I haven’t heard you call Maxwell by his title in a very long time Cullen. You must be in dire need of a heart to heart.” Dorian skipped over to Cullen, lifting his head up so the Commander was looking at him. “Luckily for you, I am here. Now spill.”

Cullen batted away the Mage’s hand and stood, albeit rather quickly. He steadied himself on whatever piece of furniture was nearest, before attempting to put on his most reassuring voice. “Nonsense, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Nonsense, you’re not fine. You’re forgetting Cullen, I’m a mage, that means I can tell how your physical state is. I merely assumed that your lyrium withdrawal was acting up, but now I know it’s something much more intriguing.” Dorian pushed Cullen into a chair, sitting in the one next to it. “Come on! Out with it! We don’t have all day.”

“If you must know. I was just mulling over Maxwell and Bann Trevelyan’s… reuinion.” Cullen tried, and failed, to hide his face.

“Ah. You’re referring to our Inquisitor’s elegant rant. It was quite something.”

“It was even more than just _something_ to me, since I seem to be an increasingly important topic of discussion with Max.” The Commander could feel a light headache working its way into his temples. “I’m still trying to process why hearing that he loves me has hit me like mind blast.”

“It’s because you feel the same way, silly.” Dorian’s response was instant, causing Cullen’s head to snap around, but Dorian silenced his impending reply with the shake of a finger. “Commander. You and Maxwell have been close for a while. Look at what happened at Hilamshiral. Such a romantic.” He feigned a tear falling from his eye.

“I knew you were watching, I should never have taken my eye off of you.”

“Commander, you wound me. Half of the nobles in Orlais saw you.” Cullen’s face went a dark shade of red. “Truthfully though, it was rather sweet, and it even warmed my cold little heart enough to make me smile. You’ve just got to remember to tell him how you feel. Unsaid words are the most dangerous thing in the world, and I say that even as a Tevinter.”

Cullen watched Dorian leave the room, before standing and wandering to the bed. It was then that he realised that this would have been a teenage Maxwell Trevelyan’s bedroom. He noticed a large blade on display, not dissimilar to the blade that his partner drew when the Vashoth held up their convoy. He looked at the tapestries and the bookcases. Even before he went to the Circles, it appeared that Maxwell was much the same person. His love of art, his allowing himself to be fragile, and to be read by people around him were all very apparent with the contents of this bedroom. It was lighter than the rest of the house, much like Maxwell was more airy and lighter than most of the company he kept. Anyone else with the Inquisitor’s experiences would be a monster. Cullen remembered the horror stories of the Arls of Denerim and Redcliffe. Cullen loved Maxwell because despite his abusive father, despite being thrown into the Circle, despite being a plaything of the Ostwick Templars, the Conclave, Haven, everything else - Maxwell endured, and he grew. Maxwell was probably the most enduring, wise person in all of Thedas, despite being a mere 22 years of age. When he heard the door click he sat up instantly.

“Cullen, I’m so sorry that took so long…” Cullen didn’t hear the rest, he just stared directly at Maxwell.

The words just fell out of his mouth, “I love you too.”


	6. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Cullen's confession isn't what our boys wanted, but the rest of the day gives Maxwell some much needed release from all of the moss of his past. Dorian lets his intrigue get the better of him.

He couldn’t help but groan when his eyes flickered open to the sun beaming through the windows of his quarters, but when he gripped for the sheets, his hands found Cullen instead. He gently sat up, staring down at the man below him. Cullen was still fast asleep, his low breathing the only thing that was audible above the hum of the city of Ostwick beyond the estate’s walls. He brushed his fringe over his head, noting to himself that he desperately needed to cut it, before rolling over. The dull pain that trailed down his lower back and around his thighs reminded him of the night he’d spent in bed with Cullen, or **_mostly_** in bed anyway. He glanced around the room, seeing the papers scattered across the floor where he’d impatiently swept them from a table. He saw the trail of discarded clothes that extended from the bed, almost all the way to the door. Slowly swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat up gently and searched for his undergarments. He found them, but since they’d been quite literally torn apart by a sex crazed templar, they weren’t much good to him anymore. Only once he’d stood up did he understand the condition that he was in. The once dull pain in his back had turned to fire, and he could now feel the ghosts of Cullen’s hands on his hips and on his shoulders. The worst part was his neck, which felt twisted and bruised. He managed to muster a small chuckle, along with the energy to pick up what was probably Cullen’s shirt from the floor, before he padded over to the mirror.

Standing in front of the glass of the mirror, he swore under his breath. Last night had been a moment of pure bliss, a sexual experience beyond all of his expectations, but now he looked like he’d been in a fight with a Qunari. Amongst old bruises and battle scars, the marks from last night now littered his skin. On his hips, he could make the outline of fingers, the bruise on his right side forming an almost perfect handprint. He lifted his head upward, extending his neck to find a trail of small black circles that collected on the left side of his chest. The love bites littered his thighs too, with some new unexplainable bruises accompanying them too. He sighed into his hand, but he couldn’t stop a stupid smile from breaking through. It was hard for him to believe that he was Cullen’s first male sexual partner, since it was probably the best lay he’d ever had in his life. He heard a stirring behind him, probably signalling that someone else was waking up. He paced back to the bed, picking up Cullen’s arm and resting it on his lap. He weaved his hands through the other man’s hair, causing him to nudge his head to the side with a grunt. Maxwell chuckled again when he spotted the marks on Cullen’s neck too. He rested his head back against the bed, closing his eyes and letting the Commander stir as he stroked his hair. 

———

It took Cullen several minutes to realise that he was awake, but when his eyes opened, he leant into the hand on his head. He almost growled as he leant up, still dazed and a little irritated that he’d woken from what was probably the soundest sleep since becoming a templar. When his gaze met the green eyes he’d learned to trust with his life, but when he let his gaze wander, he couldn’t stop himself from being shocked.

Even Cullen was surprised how shocked he sounded, uttering a quiet “ ** _Maker_**.” He didn’t manage any more than that, regardless of whether he intended to or not, and he didn’t really know what else there was to say. His lips flicked into a smile for a second when he realised that the shirt that Maxwell was wearing was his, but when he lifted it to see the bruising around his lover’s hips, the smile disappeared. “Does it hurt?”

Maxwell snorted, but when instead of being angry, Cullen saw that he was grinning. “It hurts like hell… but it was worth it.” The Commander felt the mage’s hands lightly glance over his neck, down his chest, coming to a stop on his stomach as his breath hitched. They couldn’t stop themselves from mirroring each other’s laughs, and Cullen felt like he a boy again. They sat there for a while, just enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. They had laced their hands, and Maxwell was now sat upright with Cullen leaning against him for support. The Commander’s hands couldn’t help but stroke at the palms that rested in his. Their silence lasted almost an hour, before a knock on the door followed a soldier entering the room, placing several letters on the same table that had been swept clear the night before. The soldier coughed, seemingly clearing his throat, before realising his invasion, leaving the room with a nod. The Commander wiggled away, standing up to get dressed. He was moving to where he’d placed their changes of clothes the previous day, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Maxwell called to him.

Cullen turned around slowly, trying to keep his composure, although somehow knowing that the restraint was futile. His gaze lingered on each mark on Maxwell’s body, regardless of the cause. Even though he knew his lover was several years his junior, there was something in the way Max stood that exuded confidence and experience. The mage’s body was slim, and he was slightly shorter than Cullen now that he was not wearing any boots which tended to give him an added couple of inches on his height. His muscles weren’t large, but they were toned, which reminded Cullen of the night before, when he kissed the entire length of Maxwell’s soft, smooth torso. Then there was his face. Maxwell had a strong jawline, which complemented his prominent cheekbones. His bright lips were shaped in an almost perpetual smirk, which only brought more attention to the bright, beautiful light green eyes. The man before him was a work of art, there was no denying it. He snapped back to reality, realising that in his trance he’d crossed the room, pressing his lover against the wall. They just stood there, both completely vulnerable to each other’s touch, until Cullen closed the gap. They kissed like they were starved of each other, through rugged breaths and desperate grasping. When they broke apart, their lips were swollen, their hair disheveled, with their lust of each other visible between their legs. Cullen felt himself being pushed backwards, but his eyes never wavered from his lover’s lips until he fell backwards onto the bed. When he felt the slow, soft trail of kisses being placed on the inside of his thigh his breath became shaky, and when the kisses found their way to his groin he struggled to stifle the groan that threatened to escape his lips. He wouldn’t have to struggle for long, when his attention was stolen by a knock on the door. Maxwell didn’t stop until the second knock, the urgency of the knock growing. The next thing the Commander thought about, was how he was going to need a cold wash after this.

———

The arrival of Morrigan and Leliana was unexpected, which of course could only be a bad thing. At the Inquisitor’s insistence, a room in the manor had, in a matter of hours, been turned into a makeshift war room, with missives flying in and out, and scouts being deployed around the Free Marches. Leliana stood at the centre of the room, among maps of the Arbor Wilds and several castle strongholds along Ferelden and Orlais. The Red Templars were searching for something, and they were on the move. According to his Spymaster, there were forces in Ostwick that moved against them, even after containing his father. Cullen stood to one side, clearly trying to contemplate the best way to navigate the Arbor Wilds, which was a place that few people ever returned from.

Morrigan for one, was not impressed with Ostwick. “I don’t understand why we must remain here. The war room and the connections at Skyhold are much better suited for plans of this scale.” Leliana seemed to hum in agreement, shuffling papers around, appearing increasingly frustrated at the incoherence of the room.

“I told you all that I’m not leaving until this business with Bann Horace is over. While he’s still alive I must remain here.” Maxwell’s statement ushered a cough from Leliana, who appeared like she was about to make a suggestion. He barked back at the thought, his voice now a shout, “No Leliana. We’re not going to kill him. I will return to Skyhold when my business is concluded. If you are dissatisfied with the arrangements here, you can either change them, or you can go back to Skyhold. It wasn’t **_my_** choice for you to follow me from the Winter Palace, and I was having a perfectly enjoyably time before you showed up with your attaché of spies and informants.” It was obvious that he was losing his temper, not at all weathered by all of the eyes in the room staring at him. “I don’t like this city any more than any of you do. I certainly don’t like being in this house with my homicidal, ignorant waste of a father.” He stormed out of the room, snatching up his sword on the way out.

Cullen sighed, and went to follow Maxwell, before the door slammed in front of him. The door had been magically pushed with a force strong enough splinter the wood around the hinges. He paced back over to his map, sulking down in a chair before starting to write his orders for delivery to Skyhold. “How soon can you get this missive to Skyhold?” The question was directed towards Leliana, but he didn’t take his attention away from the page.

“I can send a raven as soon as you’re finished, they usually take about a day to reach the tower.” She walked over and rested her hand on his shoulder. “He’ll calm down Cullen, just give him some time.”

“I don’t need you to give me relationship advice.” He handed her the letter, which she glanced over before nodding.

Morrigan was the one to speak next, clearly enjoying the drama a bit too much, “By the looks of his neck and chest, nobody needs to give you any advice in **_that_** area.”

The colour of the Commander’s face turned a bright red, leaving him to sputter a bit before Leliana and Morrigan both buckled over in a fit of laughter. Cullen just huffed, returning to his work, which lasted a few minutes before he turned to ask, “Does it really look that bad?” The laughter just grew louder, much to his displeasure.

  
“Let me put it this way Commander, it’s a very good job that there aren’t any more official diplomatic meetings lined up.” Leliana struggled to contain her laughter as she spoke. Little did she know that she was about to get slapped down too. 

“You might wear that hood everywhere you go, but I am not so easily fooled. You and our delightful Ambassador have similar marks.” Morrigan’s sly smile was returned with murderous looks from Leliana. However, when Cullen snorted, the attention was turned back to him, “However Cullen, to address your original question, it looks like our Lord Inquisitor has been attacked by giant leeches.”

Cullen groaned into his hands, and when the rest of the room began to giggle along with Morrigan and the Spymaster, uttering a cursive “For goodness sakes…” under his breath. He paced to leave the room, but when he reached the door, the room was silenced by a deafening blast, which sounded much like the booming of the Breach did when it still stained the sky over Haven. Cullen and Leliana had flooded out of the door in search of Maxwell before anybody else had regained their wits.

———

The damage to the Trevelyan Manor was devastating. Almost an entire wing had been blasted from the house, with Bann Trevelyan’s quarters seemingly the target of the blast. The Inquisitor had escaped with relatively minor injuries, that he had healed almost instantly. His clothes had been ripped, and his face had been burned, and his staff had been irreparably damaged in the blast. They were of little importance to Maxwell now. Somehow, it seemed that the Red Templars had tried to use Horace Trevelyan’s assassination plan to orchestrate their own, somehow acquiring a significant amount of dangerous Gaatlok, which was supposed to be a secret of the Qunari. The Inquisition soldiers that had been guarding the wing were found dead, and the crumpled remains of the Bann were also pulled from the rubble. Maxwell’s frown was severe, as he waited for the Teyrn of Ostwick to arrive. In the hours after the Teyrn’s arrival, Maxwell was given the title of Bann Trevelyan, which was the only moment that brought him any comfort. He had also agreed to significant trade deals with the Teyrn, who had promised to provide weapons to the Inquisition. The only disappointment for the ruler of the Free City, was that the Inquisitor was not available for a potential marriage for his daughter, something which brought back memories of heated arguments for Leliana and Cullen.

Regardless of the negotiations and their outcomes, it provided great relief to Leliana and Morrigan that the Inquisition party could begin to make their way back to Skyhold, although a significant force of Inquisition solders were to be dispatched to Ostwick, to help the Teyrn deduce the perpetrators of the attack on the manor, although most of the informants knew that their investigation was unlikely to produce much fruit. All in all, the Inquisition’s trip to the Marches were undoubtedly the organisation’s first major failure since Haven, regardless of the new ties. It had been a personal shattering for Maxwell, and a Trevelyan family disaster. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t feel like his final ties to the horse sigil that he always wore had been utterly shattered. He thought back to the conversations with the other Trevelyans on the day of their arrival. Their objections to his plans for Horace’s funeral. His plans for his rightful inheritance. How the Inquisition had already essentially cut off all of their ‘claims’ on the Trevelyan land. It was then he saw how the pious family had cast him out so easily - he was everything that they feared.

  
Maxwell was a handsome, well spoken, well educated mage. He was powerful in terms of spells, and in political intrigue. Even as an Enchanter in the Circle, he held more influence than most of them on the streets of Ostwick. It wasn’t like Maxwell was trying to find himself on the top of the pile, for him it was a matter of survival. He wasn’t going to be one of those horror stories from the Harrowing; nor was he going to be one of the gossip stories where a noble son became a tranquil.This was the ending of that chapter, but he didn’t feel any better now that it was over. He’d spent the past few hours inspecting the rest of the house without a word, vigilant enough to cast wards around himself in case there were any more surprises in store. He heard the whispers of the guards and of his advisers when he passed them, he knew he was sulking; as far as he was concerned, after the day he had, he was fully entitled to sulk.

———

Dorian searched for where Maxwell would be, thinking it might be a good idea to comfort him, just like he had been there when his own father had summoned him. However there was one thing that he couldn’t do, and that was to pretend to be relaxed at the use of the Qunari powder, which was a weapon he saw in use during his time in Tevinter. He was simply, rather tired of Maxwell’s sulking. He found Maxwell in the main hall of the Manor, staring blankly at a portrait of his mother and father, and as much as Dorian would love to know about Lady Trevelyan, it probably was appropriate to steer clear of that subject for now. “So… Lord Inqusitor Maxwell Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and now, Bann of Ostwick. That’s quite the impressive title, don’t you think? Which one would you like to add next? Viscount of Kirkwall? Emperor of Orlais? I dare say you can’t reach much higher.”

“I’m glad you find amusement in my titles Dorian. Truth be told, I wish I didn’t have any of them.” He was playing with his frost magic, watching white patches of ice grow on the walls in front of him, but the smile he gave Dorian seemed genuine, “Maybe I once wanted to be a First Enchanter, but I imagine that ship has long sailed.”

“What? You? Hiding away? I can scarcely imagine you being a regular person. Your personality would never permit it.” Dorian was pleased that Maxwell wasn’t as miserable as he first guessed. “Besides, you’re in a relationship with **_Ser_** Cullen Rutherford. You’d still have considerable higher station than the average pauper.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though living with Cullen outside of the Inquisition would be a dream. Think of all the sex I’d be able to have, think of how little the chance would be of interruption.” He grumbled something else under his breath that Dorian couldn’t quite catch. It sounded like he was protesting at Leliana’s sudden arrival.

“The marks across your chest tell me that you’ve already gotten a… **_healthy_** amount of sexual activity my friend.” Dorian’s chuckle set Maxwell off too, “But I want details. Every single detail.” When the Inquisitor tried to protest, Dorian shook his finger in his direction. “Go on..?”

“Fine.” Maxwell took a seat on the floor, trying to hide his mild embarrassment. “Well… He gets so caught up in his own head, which is **_so_** sexy. He payed so much attention to me, and bowed to every single one of my needs and wants. I honestly felt so… exhilarated.” He sighed, but Dorian remained silent for now, “Despite what the bruises looked like, he was really thoughtful. I’m glad we waited so long for it to be like this. It felt right.”

“… and his…”

“Oh… shit. Well.” He could no longer hide his embarrassment, his blush now quite apparent. If Dorian’s grin was anything to go by, he was enjoying this far too much. “It’s big. Not too big… but big all the same.” He stopped to take a deep breath, “I’ve dealt with larger ones in my lifetime, but… I struggled to manage at first. All I can say is I hope he’s okay switching it up every now and then.”

“Imagine what I must have felt like, sleeping with Bull for the first time. It was frankly excruciating.” the pair fell back into their childish chuckles, “I honestly thought it was the end… until I got enough practice in that is.”

They fell into an easy, gossipy conversation, one that made Maxwell the most relaxed he had been since before the battle at Adamant. He missed the easy conversations that he and Dorian had shared since the Tevinter arrived in Haven, and even though they came from vastly different places, they both understood the pressure for perfection that came with any station - and therefore they understood each others pain. Dorian had truly become an extension of family for the Inquisitor, which was something he was eternally grateful for.

After several giggly hours, the pair returned to their wing of the house to gather their things. The Inquisitor found that his clothes and his weapons had already been packed, presumably by Cullen, which meant that he was free to help Dorian. Despite being the most fashionable person that Maxwell knew, besides Vivienne of course, Dorian travelled notoriously light on clothes. The silks and leathers of his mage robes could be carried on the same horse as he could, with the only thing left to bring were the books that he ‘absolutely cannot go without’. It added an extra air of mystery about the Altus, it showed that despite all of his flirting and teasing, Dorian was much more than his reputation - and he was eternally grateful that he had found him such a reliable friend.

———

The Inquisitor stared at the dual walls of Ostwick from the cliff edge he’d stopped at to get some air. Something about the view of the city from this far away gave him the feeling that he’d left for the last time. The slight trails of smoke from the ramparts, the regality of the city’s light walls, the smell of braziers burning in his old neighbourhood, and the ruins of his old home. All of those things were going to be burned onto his mind for a long time to come. Ostwick was not his home anymore, Skyhold was his home. He had his friends, his purpose, and the love of his life at the peak; and that’s where he should be. Looking down onto the road where the most important man in his life waited with their horses, he smiled to himself knowing that he was leaving all of his old baggage in his old home, and walking straight into another where the future seemed, at least for the most part, much brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter seems a bit jumbled, I was trying my best to round off this arc so I can get into post-story chapters asap. I like following the creative direction of the quests but I really want to get somewhere that I can really put Maxwell and Cullen's relationship to task. Hope you liked the chapter anyway, only 3 or 4 more until we'll be post-Trespasser!
> 
> The next chapter will be focussing on Cullen, and we'll be seeing some more of the other inner circle members - and it'll be coming much sooner than you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short 'n' sweet chapter this time, because the next one's a bigg'n! Regardless, it's important because of our Viv' being all suspicious.

When the Inquisitor didn’t return from the Temple of Mythal, Cullen panicked. He was acutely aware of the emotions that he felt for Maxwell, but he never knew how much they could change his behaviour. He found himself alone, save for a few of his most trusted soldiers, slumped over a branch that overlooked a pool, on the edge of the Arbor Wilds. He couldn’t deny that he was sulking, but he didn’t even care to find the embarrassment in him to apologise for it. Leliana had scolded him, with words that felt like hot oil, about how he spoke to an Orlesian general. He’d overheard the man laughing about the possibility that the Inquisitor had met his end in the temple, and that perhaps now balance would be restored with the Inquisition under Celene’s control. The Commander could admit that his words were colourful, and definitely bordering on the overly aggressive side, however he was talking about Maxwell. A man who was supposed to be Orlais’ ally against Corypheus. Once Leliana was done with him, he dragged himself away to lick at his wounds. Now here he was.

 

Maxwell could be anywhere in Thedas, if he were still alive. Only Morrigan, Vivienne, Solas, and Cassandra went with him; with the possible loss of Cassandra bringing him even more grief. His relationship with the Inquisitor was… intense, and it overwhelmed him with warmth most of the time. Now, it felt like walls of iron had risen around him, blocking the sun and everything good from reaching him. He couldn’t do anything but worry. Eluvians were dangerous things, an opinion that Cullen was sure of, and a rare one that he shared with both Solas and Morrigan. He supposed he could do nothing but wait. Leliana found him after a while, instructing the guards to leave the Commander by himself, and also notifying him that Samson had been captured. It was this that dragged him off of his feet and to the camp. Giving orders that Samson was to be contained under maximum guard ready for transportation to Skyhold. Afterwards, he set about distracting himself in any way possible, and began readying Maxwell’s armies to march back to Skyhold. He just prayed to the Maker that he’d hear something soon.

 

Inspecting the recoverable dead was something that the Commander always found some time to do. It reminded him of who he was, and how lucky he was to get this far, especially after Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, and all of the other sticky situations he’d been in. Before becoming the Commander of the Inquisition, he’d say a prayer and reflect on the coming battles; now, he was a solitary, yet stoic figure amongst a sea of orange stretchers and covered bodies. These men and women had given their lives for something greater than their own ambitions, and although everyone he’d ever met in Ferelden or the Marches would despair at the thought of an Orlesian doing something noble - he had to admit that their army had given their blood in a similar, selfless fashion. He noticed too, that Blackwall and Cole had often visited the dead too. Cole, he could understand, but Blackwall - Thom Rainier - was a criminal who had killed, murdered, and yet he stood in the sea with Cullen. It was one of the few small things that told Cullen of the wisdom in Maxwell’s decision in sparing Thom’s life. He could hear the man talking to himself, muttering apologies to the dead, and wishing them well in the fade.

 

Truth be told, there were few times where Cullen felt so stable. He couldn’t lie that the uncertainty surrounding his lover’s fate was unsettling him, but the Commander knew that Maxwell had build his defences up from nothing. The Inquisitor had taken his broken lion, and nursed him back to health - when it would have been so much easier for him to be tied to lyrium again. He owed everything to him, and that filled his chest with warmth. “ _Please, be there when I get back._ ” he whispered. _I’ll see you when I get back,_ he thought.

 

———

 

Maxwell set about climbing Leliana’s tower as soon as he made it back to Skyhold. There was no way that the army would know here he’d end up, and he had to let Leliana know where he was. Morrigan’s intelligence had been sound. There was an Eluvian, but it was not what Corypheus had sought. He sought the knowledge that was now safely stored in Morrigan’s mind, a boon he granted her for all of her help with the war effort, not that she was likely to take no for an answer. He was sat with her now.

 

The forgotten crossroads in the Eluvians was a serene beauty that the Inquisitor could barely comprehend. It was harrowing, yet elegant. Every mirror acted like a window to another time, before genocide and before the greedy wants and needs of man overtook Thedas.

 

He and Morrigan had a peculiar relationship. He knew that she had previously had some form of relationship with the Hero of Ferelden, and the new King Alistair I. He didn’t know the extent however, something he was learning now. Morrigan had clearly decided that she trusted the Inquisitor, which was probably a likely symptom of his continued cooperation. Morrigan spoke of her trials against the darkspawn. How her mother had sent her away to make sure the job was done correctly, and to make sure that nobody killed the Hero whilst they set out across the Kingdom to stop the blight. She detailed how close she grew to the hero, even with their ghastly dog called ‘Biscuit’ leaving her ‘presents’, and the hero’s romantic attachment to the now King of Ferelden. She mentioned her adventures in the deep roads, and her dealings with the elves in the Kocari Wilds that lit the spark in her elven magic intrigue. All in all, her tale seemed not all different to his. It was nice for him to know that she wasn’t simply a stony, shrewd, calculating stateswoman. She was an empathetic woman, despite outward appearances, who did what was necessary to fulfil her life and her curiosities.

 

Maxwell began to joke of his upbringing, detailing at length his manipulation of the templars. He showed Morrigan the missive that had caused such a bother with his advisers before. She couldn’t help but contain her laughter, and he guessed that it helped him put those worries to bed too. He spoke of how different his life was now, and how much happier he was with someone he cared about, free, and independent. When Morrigan excused herself to go to her chambers, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his raven made it to Leliana without being intercepted.

 

———

 

Vivienne scowled at the walls around her. Nothing about this added up to her. The Inquisitor had foolishly given away the secrets of Mythal to an apostate. As much as she had grown to trust Maxwell, and his judgement - it should have been the Inquisitor himself to bathe in the waters, no matter the risk.

 

Since returning to Skyhold, she’d been frantically wracking her brain to remember any elven magics that she had learned over her time in the circle. She came up practically fruitless. Solas had offered to assist her on more than one occasion but she trusted him even less. She knew full well that he was holding back the majority of his magic in all of the troubles that they’d encountered. She could practically feel the energy radiating off of him, despite being several hundred metres away from him at this point. The thing that scared her though, was that Maxwell too was holding back most of his power. Just how extreme could these mages be? Just how far could they go? What would be the result of a theoretical battle between them? All she could do now was observe. She was not an untalented mage, and if the time ever came where the Inquisitor and Solas would battle, she would make sure that Maxwell emerged the victor.


End file.
